That’s Peanuts

Pink Floyd tossed a purple spear
carving out the spleen
of my frenzied Pearl Jam apocalyptic
tendencies to drink spent waves
when warm machines click silent red

and if it’s in print then it lives
breathing through the ancient wires
ingrained as memes of our DNA urge
to reflect light with more than just mirrors

What you sing is electrically embedded
in the code of my insatiable sphere
I’m not a Luddite but still carry a Walkman
for a sense of fleeting innocence
rather than a crucifix

The necessity of tomorrow burdens
each step stumbled along the path
to honor the fire some monkey sparked
when monsters still roamed the night unkempt

Maybe God has a say in the matter
of fact tone
you stomp around with at the pulpit
while whimpering about a mangled war
or maybe that’s a genie theory
that shouldn’t be rubbed
in such a nonchalant fashion
when the wound is still scabbed over

Plastic organic mechanic systems
double down the cost of beams
buried in our bloodshot eyes
so be careful what you beg for
because the bill arrives wrapped in silver

Scott Thomas Outlar is a lover of truth and enjoys researching philosophy, psychology, politics, spirituality, and any other facet of consciousness in the pursuit of reaching a higher state of vibration. He also enjoys writing rants, poems, essays, short stories, and prose-fusion screeds covering such subjects. Scott Thomas can be reached at You can also watch and/or subscribe to his YouTube Channel Read other articles by Scott Thomas, or visit Scott Thomas's website.